


The Book of Courtesans

by Cusp_of_Sensitivity



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Church Sex, Clothed Sex, Cock Slut, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Couch Sex, Desk Sex, Drunk Sex, Episode: s01e01 Friends and Enemies, Episode: s01e02 Sleight of Hand, Episode: s01e04 The Good Soldier, Episode: s01e10 Musketeers Don't Die Easily, F/M, Masturbation, Missing Scene, Multi, No crying over spilled ink, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Prostitution, Shameless Smut, Sluts with No Shame, Spitroasting, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism, Watersports
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2018-10-19 04:31:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10632255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cusp_of_Sensitivity/pseuds/Cusp_of_Sensitivity
Summary: Non-chronological stories about the Musketeers and the working girls who share their beds.





	1. Musketeers Don't Die Easily - Part I

**Author's Note:**

> What Athos might have been up to before he confronted Milady.

In an upstairs room at the White Flower Inn, Athos sat on the edge of the bed, drinking his way through his third bottle of wine. The plan was a simple one: a drunken Athos pulls a gun and threatens his wife, the spy known as Milady de Winter, then shoots D’artagnan in the arm when he tries to intervene. So, that was why he was here, waiting for the signal that Milady had left her rooms in the hotel owned by the goldsmith with whom she deposited her money. The Musketeers had been discreetly following her for the past three months, so they knew her regular movements. When Treville notified them know that the Cardinal had relaxed his guard following the incarceration of Count Mellendorf, they put their plan into action. Porthos had paid the candlemaker across the street to set out a signal flag when Milady left the merchant’s hotel. All Athos had to do was drink and wait and fight being bored.

Fortunately, he’d had the foresight to bring with him a time-tested solution to keep boredom at bay. Her name was Nana, and she was one of the prettiest streetwalkers on the Rue Moufftard, with long, honey blond hair, ice blue eyes, and tits large enough to overflow his hands when he cupped them to tease her pert nipples. She’d driven a shrewd bargain when they’d negotiated her price for accompanying him to the White Flower, but now, as her pussy flowed like silk over his erect cock, he had to admit that she was worth every sou he paid her.

“Athos,” she moaned, flexing her hips back to take him deeper as she sat on his lap, completely naked, facing away from him, “you should’ve come to see me sooner. We could have spent many enjoyable hours together, fucking our brains out.”

“We’re fucking now,” he said, taking another swig of wine, “let that be enough.”

Nana put her hands on his knees, using her grip as leverage to grind on him while he continued drinking. As she lifted herself up along his length, she marveled that the amount of wine he’d drunk had done absolutely nothing to soften his iron hard cock. Not that she was complaining. Athos’ cock was truly impressive, and as a woman whose business it was to deal with men’s genitals, she was not easily impressed. He was long and very, very thick, his girth stretching her pussy to a width that she didn’t get very often. His fat cockhead rubbed her sweet spot with every stroke, in and out, and she let the delicious friction of their bodies carry her toward one of the few genuine orgasms she experienced in her line of work.

Athos drained the bottle and tossed it back on the bed, then used his hands to spread her buttocks so he could see his cock moving into Nana’s wet pussy, his swollen flesh shiny with her juices.

“Let’s see how loud you can scream,” he said thickly and he used his grip on her to urge her to pump him faster and Nana readily complied, picking up speed.

“I’m coming,” she panted, her hips bouncing as fast as they could as she rode him. “Oh, Athos, I’m coming.” She cried out when his hand snaked around, his finger going unerringly to her pearl, pressing it to send her over the edge, her pussy convulsing around him, and she collapsed back against him. His hands squeezed her breasts as he finished with several hard thrusts, and her sigh mingled with his guttural groan as he filled her body with seed.

His hand patted her thigh, signaling for her to get up, and Nana slowly eased herself off his spent cock. Athos stood up, pulling his breeches back up and refastening them. Looking out the window, he smiled as he saw the candlemaker set out the signal flag. He bid Nana good night and left the room. Going down the stairs, he smiled at the figure standing at the foot of the stairs, holding his doublet, pistol, and a bottle of wine. Athos took the pistol and the wine, then instructed the figure to take his doublet back to the Garrison. Walking out the door, he spotted Milady heading toward the end of the street and quickened his pace to close the distance between them, keeping a firm grip on both the pistol and the wine bottle.


	2. Musketeers Don't Die Easily - Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Athos does after threatening Milady.

Athos walked into the barracks and headed toward his room. The plan to trap Milady had not gone exactly without a hitch. Milady had been terrified when he caught up with her, and everyone had played their parts. But D’artagnan’s impulsive move at the last instant meant that his shot grazed the younger man’s ribs instead of hitting his arm. He didn’t like leaving his protégé to Milady’s devices, but it had to be done for their plan to work. He trusted that D’artagnan could do the job of convincing Milady that his friends had abandoned him, but he didn’t trust his wife not to have a plan of her own.

He entered his room, smiling when he saw that Mireille had brought his doublet back. With a seductive smile, she stood up from the bed and opened his doublet to show him that she was naked underneath. A busty blonde with eyes the color of cognac, Mireille was a serving wench at the White Flower, but for the right customer, she was also happy to provide him with services of an erotic nature for an additional fee. Athos felt his cock come back to life in his breeches, and he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside as Mireille took off his doublet and laid it on the bed.

“Kneel,” he ordered softly, and he smiled as she went down on her knees in front of him. He opened his breeches and took out his half hard cock. “Now, suck.” Mireille licked the ridge of his cockhead before taking it into her mouth. Athos ran his finger through her light tresses as her head bobbed and he slid further between her pouty lips. Her hands went to his thighs as she swallowed him down, his cock growing and thickening to fill the cavity of her mouth, and he thrust his hips forward to get more of her intimate kisses.

“Do you think Milady was convinced by our playacting?” Treville asked as he entered the room.

“Possibly,” Athos said, his hand guiding Mireille back down his shaft, while Treville took off his frock coat. “I felt the fear in her. It’s up to D’artagnan to convince her now. I think he will.”

“What’s going on?” Mireille asked, pausing in her fellating and casting a questioning eye as she watched Treville take off his shirt, then unfasten his breeches.

Athos drew her attention back to him. “Call it the Musketeer droit de seigneur,” he told her, stroking her chin while Treville opened his drawers and eased them off his hips to free his cock. “The Captain gets first chance with all the whores that come to the Garrison.” He and Treville smiled at each other over her head, Treville stroking his huge erection that curved upward. “Now, stand and bend over, legs apart,” he ordered in a tone that brooked no resistance, and Mireille hurried to comply.

“Did I say you could stop sucking?” Athos said, shoving his spit-shined cock back in her face as Treville came up behind her. Mireille wrapped her lips around his tip as Treville chose that moment to thrust hard between her thighs, forcing her onto the entire length of Athos’ cock, and she almost choked before she was pulled back up and could take a breath.

“Damn, this feels good,” Treville growled, enjoying the wet slide as he moved inside Mireille’s pussy. His strokes were long and deep, and the two men grinned at Mireille’s muffled cries of pleasure as they fucked her at both ends.

“What will you do next?” Athos asked Treville, returning to the subject of their plan to thwart Milady.

“I’ve invited Charlotte Mellendorf to attend the King’s sitting for his new portrait in the morning,” Treville replied with another hard thrust for Mireille, “so she can plead her father’s case. Then I’ll head over to Milady’s apartment to tell D’artagnan that you won’t serve with him anymore and he has to leave the Musketeers.”

Athos nodded approvingly of the next step of their plan. “Do you think she’ll believe you?” he asked, moving Mireille’s head into a new position so he could fuck her mouth better.

“I can be very convincing when I have to be,” Treville said, savoring the way their whore’s pussy tightened around him as he plunged further inside her. “I’ve spent years handling Louis. Milady shouldn’t be a problem.” He smiled as Mireille’s wet channel experienced another spasm around his cock. “I think she’s ready to burst,” he said, reaching around to finger the nub hidden between her nether lips.

Together, the two men increased the speed of their thrusting, so Mireille rocked back and forth between them, and soon she was climaxing, her pussy squeezing Treville’s cock while her cries created vibrations that caressed Athos’ cock, causing him to groan thickly, and the two men came at the same time, their cocks spurting seed into her mouth and sheath. The three of them floated down from their high together, and Athos and Treville eased their softening cocks out of Mireille’s body, helping her to stand straight again. The massive bell of Notre Dame rang the hour.

“The men will be retiring for the night,” Athos said, looking toward Treville, “and you don’t allow women in the barracks overnight.”

Treville pulled Mireille back against him. “We’ll take her up to my office,” he said, running his hands over her breasts and thighs, “and finish her off there.”

Mireille put on Treville’s frock coat while Athos and Treville refastened their breeches. The three of them hurried up to the Captain’s office to continue their night of debauchery.


	3. Sleight of Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis takes a walk and meets a new friend.

Aramis walked down the Rue St. Denis, enjoying the warm Parisian sunshine, something rare this time of year. He inhaled the scent of freshly baked baguettes coming from the boulangerie, watching the tableaux of people going about their day. A pair of children running by drew his attention to a doorway with a curving staircase, something he had forgotten about. It led to the rooms belonging to Suzette, Vadim’s mistress and accomplice in his plot to steal the Crown jewels. It had been a week since they had stopped Vadim, D’artagnan giving him a mortal wound as he tried to escape, earning the gratitude of the King and Queen. Aramis fingered the gold crucifix that the Queen had given him for saving her during the riot at the Chatelet. He could still remember the delicate perfume wafting from her skin, her slim body pressed against his, quivering with shock from the volley between the Musketeers and the escaping prisoners. Aramis felt his body reacting to his memories, and remembering Suzette’s earlier offer to him, he climbed the stairs going up to her rooms. He knew that she might not be pleased to see him, what with Vadim’s death, but a woman like her was a survivor, and thus practical, and he knew he could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. He passed through the curtain into the brightly colored room where he and Athos had talked with Suzette a week ago. Everything looked exactly as they’d left it, except for the occupant standing near the window. 

“Can I help you, Monsieur?” asked a pretty young woman that Aramis guessed was about eighteen, with sooty black curls that fell down her back, and eyes a shade of green that he’d only seen on cats. Dressed entirely in grey, which made her stand out against the rosy room, her chemise was unlaced to reveal the swell of her zaftig breasts. Aramis’ cock hardened as he looked over her well-formed figure, and a smile curved his lips.

“I was looking for Suzette,” he told her, taking off his hat and bowing gallantly. “Have you seen her?”

“Were you one of her clients?” the young whore asked, inspecting him just as intently as he’d done to her.

“Were?” Aramis caught her use of past tense, raising an eyebrow. “I made her acquaintance last month,” he lied with a charming smile. “Do you know where she is, Mademoiselle…?”

“Coralie,” she introduced herself. “And Suzette is no doubt buried in some unmarked grave. She was found on the floor there,” she told him, pointing to a dark stain on the wood, “with her throat slit. No one knows who did it.”

“Why would someone kill Suzette?” Aramis asked.

Coralie shrugged. “Who knows?” she said. “Maybe she stole from someone she shouldn’t have. Her valise was packed as though she was leaving.”

 _She was going to leave Paris with Vadim with the jewels,_ Aramis thought as a piece of the puzzle locked into place. _But it looks like someone got to her first._

“It seems you have no qualms about moving into rooms where a woman died,” Aramis said, taking a different tack. “I admire your fearlessness, Coralie. Most people would shy away from such a thing.”

“These are good rooms,” Coralie said practically, an amused smile playing on her full lips. “A good location with plenty of business, they’re a vast improvement on where I was previously staying. And in this business, you don’t shed many tears over the death of a competitor. And now, Monsieur…?” she raised her own dark brow at him.

“Aramis,” he supplied, giving her the stare, and having the satisfaction of seeing her eyes darken in response.

“Well, Aramis,” Coralie’s voice became huskier as she spoke, “is that all you require from me?”

“Suzette had offered to polish my sword,” Aramis told her, leaving no doubt as to which piece of weaponry he was referring to. “As she is no longer here, perhaps you would be willing to take on the task?”

“I could,” Coralie conceded, playing with the lacings of her chemise, “for a price.”

“How much?” Aramis asked, certain that he could talk her down from whatever she was asking.

“Five livre,” she said firmly, as though reading his mind.

“To suck a cock?” Aramis whistled. “That seems a little high.”

“Well worth the price,” Coralie countered as she sauntered up to him, her hand going under his frock coat to feel the hard ridge under his leather breeches. “You could find another whore willing to give you a cheaper price,” she told him, her lips just a breath away from his as she rubbed her palm hard against him, making him groan, “but I doubt you’ll find one that can satisfy this giant.”

With an amused smile at her confident assertion, Aramis nodded, undoing the blue sash wrapped around his waist. Coralie smiled as she unbuttoned his coat. Aramis took off his frock coat as Coralie went to sit on the edge of the bed, her legs spread wide. He lowered his suspenders as he stepped between her knees, then took off his shirt, tossing it on the bed. Coralie undid his breeches, then his drawers, pulling them down his thighs to let his broad, erect shaft spring free. Her tongue came out to swirl around his swollen cockhead before taking him into her mouth. Aramis closed his eyes as Coralie’s hand squeezed his testes before moving up to the base of his cock to pump him. His fingers sank into her inky tresses as her head bobbed and she relaxed her throat, allowing her to go down all the way to his root. Aramis groaned, feeling his cock grow and thicken in her mouth, which applied a gentle suction around the crown of his shaft to tease his heated flesh.

Looking down, he saw her chemise gaping open as she moved on him, and that her nipples were hard peaks. Smiling, he watched as her free hand pull her skirt up her thighs, then slide between them to stroke herself as she swallowed him down. Aramis had to admit, she was right about her talents. It was a rare woman who could skillfully pleasure her lover with one hand and at same time pleasure herself with the other. Her delighted moans were muffled as she sucked him harder, and her hips shimmied on the bed as she fucked her hand. When Aramis unexpectedly thrust his cock further into her mouth, her hand came out to steady herself by moving up to cup his testes, smearing them with her juices. Aramis inhaled her scent, savoring the intimate perfume, and when her teeth lightly grazed the most intimate part of him, he nearly exploded in her mouth. He barely kept himself under control, but he wanted more from her.

“No,” he said, pulling out from her luscious mouth, his cock shiny from spit and milky fluid. “I want to finish inside you.”

Coralie looked up at him, her eyes dark with lust, and scooted back to the middle of the bed, her skirt bunching up around her. Aramis yanked it up and shoved her thighs far apart, raising an eyebrow when he saw her mound was completely hairless, a practice found only in Paris’ exclusive high-end brothels that catered to the moneyed classes, not among the street whores. He pulled her chemise down to reveal those sumptuous breasts, gently squeezing one to test the resiliency of her flesh. Her skin was as soft and smooth as a baby’s bottom, another sign that she had spent her time indoors rather than walking the streets. As he was massaging her chest, Coralie’s hand gripped his cock firmly to guide him to her dripping wet slit. Aramis thrust inside to find her completely soaked, going in easily all the way to the hilt. He pulled out then slammed back in, grinning devilishly at her sultry moan.

“Harder, Aramis,” she said throatily, lifting her hips to meet his thrust. “I want you to fuck me so I can’t move.”

Always willing to oblige a lady, Aramis pounded between her legs, his strokes coming hard and deep, his weight pressing her down as though he was going to fuck her through the bed to the floor. Coralie’s hands came around to grab his hard buttocks, her nails scoring his flesh as she urged him to ride her with more vigor.

“Aahh,” Aramis’ breath hissed out as her nails dug in, “you enjoy getting your pussy beaten, don’t you?” He tunneled into her relentlessly, his rotund cockhead jabbing her sweet spot over and over, enjoying her satisfied groans as much as her wet heat caressing his shaft.

“Ungh,” Coralie groaned, adjusting her hips to give him a better angle, “and there are so few men up to the task of delivering that beating.” She shivered as heat rippled through her belly, reveling in his iron-hard length fucking her the way she always dreamed of. “You feel like a battering ram,” she panted, using that hardness to find her release. “So hard. So good.”

Aramis kept up his punishing rhythm, their pelvic bones rubbing against each other, as Coralie climaxed on him, enjoying the way her pussy squeezed him along every inch of his cock. When she sank back into the bed, fully sated, he gave one last thrust, pummeling her with all his strength. When her sheath clenched around him like a vise, his cock spewed seed into her and Aramis let out a groan of relief as his body drained. They stayed as they were for several minutes, letting the aftershocks subside, before Aramis broke the silence.

“Where did you work before taking these rooms?” he asked, brushing her hair away from her face. “Was it the Golden Veil?”

Coralie shook her head. “The Sapphire,” she told him as his hand left her face to cup her breast.

“That’s a very luxurious place,” he said, remembering his one visit there, when Treville had sent him and Cornet to investigate the theft of a vicomte’s son’s purse. “Why leave?”

“Just because I like having my pussy get a beating,” Coralie replied, looking up at him, “that doesn’t mean I want the rest of my body abused.”

Aramis’ hand went lower to ease under her back, where he felt the scar tissue from whip marks that crisscrossed her skin. He returned his hand to her soft breast.

“Come back to the Garrison with me,” he said, his thumb playing with her nipple. “See Captain Treville. He can help you.”

“Would he do that?” Coralie asked doubtfully, unsure whether to trust this man who had just given her the best orgasm of her life.

Aramis smiled reassuringly. “Fuck him the way you fucked me,” he said, his other hand cupping her other breast, squeezing both while teasing their peaks, “and he’ll take you to court, introduce you to some powerful protectors.” He lowered his head to taste the tips. “You could become one of the Grande Horizontales,” he said, referring to the court’s most illustrious courtesans.

“Alright,” she replied as she felt him harden again between her legs.

An hour later, Aramis and Coralie walked through the Garrison’s gate. Aramis led her up the stairs, pointed her down the hall to Treville’s office, then went in the opposite direction, finding Athos and Porthos sitting in front of the fireplace, sharing a bottle of wine. 

“You were gone a while,” Athos said, pouring Aramis a glass as he removed his sash and frock coat.

“I was taking a walk,” Aramis replied, taking the wine from Athos. Sitting down, he told them about going to Suzette’s rooms, what he had learned about her death, finding Coralie, and why she had fled from the Sapphire.

“Did you fuck her?” Porthos asked, taking a sip of wine.

“Porthos, please,” Aramis quipped, giving him a look of mock offense. “You know I did. I also brought her here to see Treville.”

Porthos nodded, satisfied. He hadn’t liked the stare that Aramis had used on the Queen when she had given him her crucifix in thanks for protecting her at the Chatelet. Hopefully some pussy would get him back on the straight and narrow of his usual womanizing.

“You didn’t send her to his office, did you?” Athos asked, drinking from his own glass.

“Of course,” Aramis said. “Why?”

Athos and Porthos exchanged a look. “Treville’s finishing up the paperwork on the Vadim affair,” Athos told him.

“And you know how much the Captain hates paperwork,” Porthos added. “He’s a right bear toward anyone who interrupts him.”

“Then I guess I’d better go save Coralie from his temper,” Aramis said, rising to his feet. He took a bottle of wine from the ones on the table and left the room.

As he walked down the corridor, there was no noise coming from Treville’s office. When he reached the door, he heard a low masculine groan. Smiling, he opened the door and went in, closing it softly behind him. Treville was seated in his desk chair, which was turned to the side away from the desk. Kneeling between his spread legs was Coralie, naked except for her stockings and shoes, her head buried in Treville’s groin. Her hair was pulled over her shoulder, and as Aramis got closer, he could see the web work of scars that covered her back.

“I suppose I have you to thank for this…distraction,” Treville said, looking at him through slit eyes as Coralie sucked his cock.

“Don’t worry,” Aramis said, giving Treville his most charming smile. “I won’t let it go to my head.”

“I suppose you want me to give you a plum assignment?” Treville posited.

Aramis shook his head. “I told her that if she fucked you, you would introduce her to some rich patrons,” he said, frowning down at Coralie’s scars, which were worse than he’d expected. 

Treville’s eyes followed Aramis’ to Coralie’s back. “I’m tempted to set her up somewhere and keep her for myself,” he groaned as her tongue caressed the ridge of his cockhead. “But I do know that the finance minister has recently parted ways with his latest mistress.” His fingers sank into her hair as she took his full length into her mouth. “Although I don’t see how he would keep up with this one. He is past sixty.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t have a problem picking up the slack in that area,” Aramis quipped as he and Treville grinned at each other over her head. “And she does enjoy getting fucked hard by a big cock.”

“Does she, now?” Treville asked, looking down at Coralie, who looked up at him with hopeful eyes as her tongue whorled around his cockhead. “Since she’s been so helpful to me, perhaps I should bend her over this desk and give her pussy a proper thrashing.” His fingers gently traced her jaw. “Would you like that?” he asked her softly, smiling when she nodded.

“Do you mind if I watch?” Aramis asked, taking a drink from the wine bottle, while Treville helped Coralie to her feet.

Trevile nodded and Aramis pulled out the chair in front of Treville’s desk. Opening his breeches, Aramis sat down, he poured a bit of wine on his hand to wet it then wrapped it around his half-hard cock. He watched as Treville removed his coat and shirt, then positioned Coralie over his desk, her nipples hard on the lush breasts that swayed gently as she lowered to her belly. With his erect cock jutting out from his belly like a thick spike, the ruddy skin shiny with spit, Treville edged her legs farther apart. Spreading her buttocks, he shoved into her wet pussy, his length meeting no resistance as he drove all the way to the hilt, and Coralie moaned as the force of his entry pressed her pearl against the edge of the desk.

Aramis’ grip tightened as his fist slid up and down his cock, finding the right pressure as he stroked the hard flesh. He watched as Treville vigorously fucked the whore on his desk, drinking in the scene before him. Coralie’s face was a study in rapture as Treville’s cock rammed back and forth with enough power to rock the desk and make those delicious breasts bounce. Coralie cried out, gripping the edge as her swollen nub was mashed against the desk, and Aramis knew from his experience with her that she was quickly reaching the point of release. He quickened his tempo, squeezing the bulbous cockhead as his other hand tugged hard on his testes. The movement of the desk caused the inkwell to tip over and Aramis looked on, enrapt, as the dark liquid quickly ran out to drip onto the floor. He pumped his cock rapidly, watching Coralie shiver through her orgasm, and then he was coming, spurting thick and creamy into his hand.

“Feed it to her,” Treville ordered, still thrusting hard and steady into Coralie from behind.

Aramis got up and stood in front of Coralie, his hand extended so she could eat the milky substance while Treville continued fucking her. Coralie licked the salty seed from his fingers, cleaning his skin of every drop and swallowing it down. Treville slammed her against the desk one last time, groaning as his own seed gushed into her throbbing pussy.

“We need more cartridges made up,” Treville told Aramis when he regained his voice, referring to the small packets of gunpowder used in firing the arquebus rifles.

“I’ll get on it right away, Captain,” Aramis replied, refastening his breeches and giving Coralie a gallant bow before leaving the office.

“And now, my dear,” Treville said, slowing pulling his spent cock from her clinging walls, “you can lay down over there while I finish the damn paperwork you interrupted.” Helping Coralie up from the desk, he gave her buttocks a firm smack to send her over to the iron bed in the corner. Seeing the inkwell tipped over at the edge of the desk, he looked over to see the small puddle on the floor. Giving Coralie an exasperated look, he opened the lid of the escritoire and took out a fresh inkwell. 

“Don’t blame me,” Coralie retorted saucily as he sat down, dipping his quill in ink and putting it back to parchment. “It’s your own fault for pounding me as hard as you did. And now, my dear,” she spread her legs far apart, angling her hips so he had a clear view of her well-fucked pussy, “the sooner you finish that paperwork, the sooner we can move on to the next round.”

Treville gave her an arch look to let her know what was going to happen to her in their second round. Coralie giggled as she lay back on Treville’s bed, happier than she’d been since she was a child, thinking that becoming a Grande Horizontale might be very enjoyable indeed.


	4. Friends and Enemies - Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wrong turn on the way home from the tavern leads D'artagnan to an unexpected pleasure.

"Fifty sous and I'll take you to heaven."

It wasn't the words themselves that caught D'artagnan's attention, although it was certainly odd to hear the same words that Constance had used to distract the Red Guard when he and the Musketeers went after Gordet. It was the voice, rich and sultry, speaking the words in the Gascon dialect that he hadn't heard since he and his father had left for Paris, the lilting drawl telling him the speaker was from the southern part of the province. He turned around, his eyes going to the doorway where, illuminated by the torch in the nearby holder, a young woman dressed in simple dark habit stood, her hair covered by a wimple.

"That got your attention," the young nun quipped as D'artagnan came over to her, and he could see that she was very pretty, with light olive skin, hazel eyes, and a wide mouth with full lips. D'artagnan thought it was a shame that one so young and beautiful would shut herself up in a cloister, but his pleasure at finding a fellow countrywoman so far from home quickly put that out of his mind.

"You're from Gascony?" he asked, his eyes roaming over her as though she might disappear at any moment. "Where?"

"Bayonne," she replied, smiling up at him. "And you?"

"Lupiac. My name is D'artagnan," he said, realizing that he hadn't introduced himself.

"I am Sister Augustina," she said with a warm smile. "Why don't you come inside? It's a little cold to be conversing on the steps."

D'artagnan followed Sister Augustina into the empty hall, looking around as she secured the door. "What convent is this?" 

"We are the order of Saint Theodora," Sister Augustina replied, picking up a candelabra, and indicating for him to follow her.

"I haven't heard of that one," D'artagnan said as they went down a silent corridor.

"We are a small order," Sister Augustina told him, holding up the candelabra to light the way, "and thus unknown to most. We strive for complete obedience to the head of our order and to provide spiritual relief for those in need of it." They continued quietly, D'artagnan looking around at the icons on the walls as she led him over to two large doors. 

"You must be tired, D'artagnan," Sister Augustina said, opening the door to let them in. "It's late, and we do provide beds for those who need them."  
Going into the large hall, D'artagnan saw that covered beds turned sideways lined the walls, just like in the sickrooms at the hospital run by the monastery outside Lupiac. At the far end of the hall he could see three beds on a raised dais. 

"You run a hospital?" he asked, looking around at the tidy, well-kept room.

"Something like that," Sister Augustina said with a note in her voice that D'artagnan didn't notice as he observed his surroundings. "You are welcome to stay here tonight, D'artagnan. Would you like to?"

"I was on my way to my new lodgings," D'artagnan told her, "but it seems I took a wrong turn somewhere." He felt a little sheepish to admit that he had gotten lost on his first full day in Paris, but Sister Augustina smiled reassuringly.

"The streets of Paris can be confusing for those unfamiliar with them," she said gently, leading him over to one of the beds, "and my sisters and I are always happy to provide comfort." She set the candelabra on a nearby table, using a wooden punk to take a flame to light the candles in their holders over the bed, illuminating it beautifully. D'artagnan thought he had never seen a bed so welcoming. 

"Thank you for your hospitality, Sister Augustina," he said, as she blew out the punk and looked up at him with an amused smile.

"Oh, but we're not done yet, D'artagnan." Sister Augustina's voice was husky with desire, and before D'artagnan could speak, she opened the folds of her habit to show him that she was completely naked underneath.

D'artagnan's eyes widened at the sight of Augustina's plentiful breasts, topped with ruddy nipples standing at attention. He had gone easy on the wine tonight, his new friend Aramis having warned him that his other new friend Porthos liked to get people drunk and then cheat at cards to take their money, and now, as his gaze moved lower to her hairless nether lips, his cock hardened rapidly and stretched out the front of his breeches. He inhaled the intimate scent of her body and found his carnal appetite ravenous for this luscious piece, his cock dampening his breeches with pre-come, ready to get inside Sister Augustina's wet pussy. "I never guessed you were a Magdalene," he said, his voice lowering to match hers.

Sister Augustina let out a throaty laugh and shook her head. "Magdalenes renounce the act of fornication," she told him, letting her habit slide off her shoulders to the floor, then reaching up and removing her wimple to let a thick sable braid fall over her shoulder to her waist. "This order was founded for novices who find that the vows of celibacy are beyond their capabilities." She reached for the hem of his shirt.

"Like Saint Theodora?" D'artagnan quipped as Sister Augustina tugged his shirt upward.

"A woman who started out as an actress and prostitute, then became Empress of Byzantium," she told him, pulling the shirt over his head and tossing it aside. "A woman who used sex to change the world."

"Aren't you afraid the Cardinal will shut your order down?" he asked as she moved to the front of his breeches. "He's been known to crack down on those who practice unorthodox religious views."

That elicited another laugh from Sister Augustina. "He's the founder of our order," she told him as she undid the front of his breeches, then went to work on his drawers. "He uses this room to entertain important people. We had a bacchanalia here two nights ago," she said, explaining the true purpose of the beds that lined the walls. "I was in the middle bed," she pointed to the beds on the dais, "riding the Cardinal's huge cock the entire night." She shoved his breeches and drawers off his hips, smiling when she saw the extent of D'artagnan's own erection. "And I can see that riding your cock will be just as enjoyable." She wrapped her fingers around his swollen flesh, tugging twice to bring a few more drops of milky fluid oozing out of his rotund cockhead, then massaging them into the smooth skin to make him groan.

Letting go of his distended shaft, Sister Augustina climbed onto the bed, turning to face him with her thighs spread wide. Reaching down, she parted her nether lips so he could see that her slit was shiny with her juices. Sliding a long, graceful finger into her channel, Sister Augustina brought it to her mouth, smearing her juices on the lush lips that D'artagnan knew would feel amazing wrapped around his cock as she sucked him off, making them glisten like the pair down lower. D'artagnan hurried to remove the rest of his clothes and join her on the bed as she went onto her knees. Pulling her into his arms, he crushed his mouth down on hers, tasting her delicious juice at the same time as he thrust his hips forward to stab her belly with his hardness, testing his readiness to fuck.

"Lie down," Sister Augustina told him breathlessly, pushing on his shoulders to make him do as she said. "I'm going to serve you tonight."

D'artagnan lay back against the soft pillows and watched as Sister Augustina straddled his thighs, taking his fully engorged shaft in a firm grip.

"Gascon cocks are much bigger than Parisian ones," she said with a wicked smile, using her thumb to tease his cockhead. "I've missed having one hammering between my legs until I'm too sore to stand."

D'artagnan returned her smile as she played with him. "Up in the hayloft," he drawled lustfully, joining in her fantasy, "on your back, with your thighs wide open. Your pussy is wetter than the Garonne River."

Sister Augustina moved directly over him and rubbed his bulbous crown against her slit. “With a long, thick cock moving so hard and fast, making me take all of it, and riding me until I’m exhausted.”

“Because you love nothing more than having that cock inside you,” D’artagnan told her, groaning as she eased the head of his shaft inside her pussy. “You get so hot and wet on the iron between your legs as it gives you what you need.”

"And a calloused hand covering my mouth to keep in my screams as I come," she said as her heat and juices drenched his skin. "So no one will know that we're fucking instead of doing our chores. Aaahhh," she sighed as she slid easily down his thick girth to take him completely inside her. She leaned over him, her palms flat on his chest as though she wanted to hold him down as she took him.

"Welcome to Paris, D'artagnan," she said in her honey-and-cream voice, her lips lowering to an inch above his. "I hope you'll be able to enjoy _all_ " she punctuated the word with a hip pump that made him groan, "of her pleasures while you are here."

Sister Augustina set a steady rhythm, neither too slow nor too fast, as she wanted to savor as much of D'artagnan's cock as she could. Gascon farm boys were amazing in bed, and it was anything but a chore to slide up his enlarged length until only his tip was inside her, then let her weight pull her back down again, the iron hardness of his shaft pushing her intimate walls apart, finding every sensitive spot, even the ones she didn't know she had. Her generously sized breasts swung back and forth as she worked herself on him, and she giggled as D'artagnan reached up play with them, massaging them and pinching her nipples to tighter peaks. It wasn't long before a string of Gascon profanities tumbled from her lips and her hips bounced rapidly as she reached the orgasm she knew his cock would give her, crying out as her pussy squeezed him tightly. D'artagnan gripped her hips and pressed them hard against his, groaning with relief as he found release, and Sister Augustine gasped when she felt the warm flood as his cock emptied itself of an ample amount of seed.

Sister Augustina brushed her lips against his then eased herself off his spent cock, moving to lie down on her stomach. D'artagnan watched as she rose up, bracing herself on her arms and pushing her hips down, her thighs far apart, so her pussy was right on the velvet counterpane. He raised his brow at her in a silent inquiry.

“I forgot that Gascons have huge come globs,” she answered his question, feeling the slide of D’artagnan’s thick cream as it ran out of her pussy onto the bedcover. “And I doubt either of us would like to hear the patter of tiny feet right now.” She contracted her intimate muscles to make more of his come load ooze out on the bed, and D’artagnan found himself getting aroused again as he watched her hips flex and soft groans escape her lips as she worked to eject his seed from her body.

“I think that’s all of it,” Sister Augustina said, moving away and letting D’artagnan see the big white stain against the red velvet counterpane. “What next?”

“Well, since you’re cleaned off,” D’artagnan said, looking at her with renewed lust, “perhaps you could assist in cleaning me as well.” He drew her gaze to his sticky cock and testes.

“I could,” Sister Augustina told him playfully, the same level of lust in her eyes. “But it would depend on how clean you’d like to be.”

“Very clean,” D’artagnan replied, anticipating her tongue and lips moving along his shaft.

“All right,” Sister Augustina said and to D’artagnan’s surprise, she moved to straddle him.

D’artagnan watched as Sister Augustina held her nether lips apart, and with a wicked grin, let loose a strong stream of piss that hit his cock with an audible splash.

“I take it you’ve never had this kind of bath before?” Sister Augustina asked as her golden downpour ran the length of his half hard cock.

“Never,” D’artagnan said, surprised to find he was enjoying the warm piss on his skin. With her head lowered so she could see what she was doing, and her fingers holding back her labia so her flow was unimpeded, he thought she looked like an erotic and profane fountain. But then, everything in this room screamed of the profane, from the murals on the walls to the statues with large phalluses, to the other statues of couples in various positions of copulation, looked like home to the young nun watering his groin as though it was the most natural act in the world. “How much do you have in there?” he asked when her stream showed no sign of stopping.

“I really needed to piss,” Sister Augustina said, one hand moving his cock out of the way as she took her gushing spate down to wash his balls. “But I needed to fuck you more than I needed to piss, so I had to hold it in for a while.” She looked down to watch her shower pelt the oversized sac with moisture. “I’d say it’s made this even more enjoyable, don’t you agree?”

“Yeah,” D’artagnan agreed, feeling his cock swell and harden as she moved her spout back up again. Pulling him under the waterfall between her legs, Sister Augustina sighed with relief, moving his shaft in tight little circles, drenching his cockhead with her torrent, while her hand stroked up and down his length. Finally, the force of her deluge lessened and D’artagnan felt a twinge of disappointment as the last drops of piss hit his skin that this new and strangely exciting experience was over.

“There,” Sister Augustina said as she scooted off his hips, “all clean and ready to fuck.” 

The next morning, D’artagnan got up, stretching his arms over his head to un-kink his body. Looking around, he couldn’t find his clothes, but then remembered that they were two beds over. He padded over to the pile of his clothes, surveying the damage the two of them had done last night. He and Sister Augustina had continued their night of debauchery, so that the bed they started in had become a mess of come and piss, requiring them to move to another bed. But because they were unable to stop their amorous activities, the second bed quickly ended up in the same state as the first, which meant they needed a third bed for the rest of the night. D’artagnan knew he should regret what they did, but all he felt was deep satisfaction and a desire to do it all over again. He picked up his drawers and breeches and put them on, then felt a strong call of nature.

“Is there a chamber pot in here?” he asked, looking over at Sister Augustina on the far bed.

“Sorry,” she replied, not moving from the spread out position that D’artagnan had been lying on top of only moments before. “Those are the first things to be removed after a bacchanalia. However, there is something else you could use,” she said, letting her fingers slide down to the opening between her legs.

“Are you sure?” D’artagnan asked.

Sister Augustina nodded. “I wouldn’t do something to a lover that I wasn’t prepared to have done to myself.” She spread her nether lips for him in a sign of encouragement. “Besides, you need to clean out that big come load you just put in there.”

Smiling, D’artagnan went back to stand between Sister Augustina’s legs. Taking his soft cock in his hand, he eased himself halfway into the warm sheath that he’d spent most of the night in. He let himself relax and a moment later piss was flowing out of him and into her body.

“Mmm,” Sister Augustina purred as he filled her up, “that feels really good.” She sat up so she could have a better view of what was happening.

D’artagan felt his water running back down to seep out of Sister Augustina’s pussy onto the coverlet. She pulled his mouth to hers and, with a giggle, let her own stream flow down to the base of his shaft. They stayed like that until their bladders were completely empty.

“There’s linen in the bottom drawer,” she told him, brushing her lips against his one last time.

D’artagnan reached down to open the drawer and took out two linen cloths with which to dry off. When he had donned the rest of his clothes, the door swung open and in walked a woman dressed in a much finer version of the habit Sister Augustina had worn, and D’artagnan guessed she was the abbess of the house. As she got closer, he could see that she was about ten years older than his bedmate, and a very attractive woman. He waited as her eyes surveyed the room before landing on him.

“I trust,” she said in a cool tone, “that Sister Augustina attended to all your needs last night?”

“Yes, Mother Superior,” D’artagnan said, flushing slightly with embarrassment.

“Excellent.” The abbess’s eyes again looked at the three disheveled beds. “I think,” she said, extending her hand, “that eight livres would be a generous donation to our order.”

D’artagnan winced, but put the requested money in her hand. The abbess smiled at him as her fingers closed around the coins, and requested that he follow her. She led him back the way he came, opening the solid door going back out to the street.

“I hope,” the abbess said when he had exited the convent, “that we will see you again the next time you find yourself in need of spiritual _relief_.”

D’artagnan nodded and when the door closed, he turned and went to the end of the last street he remembered to try to find the way to Madame Bonacieux’s house.


	5. The Good Soldier

The clock in the antechamber chimed the hour, and Athos and Porthos exchanged a look of boredom. They had been assigned by Treville to guard the Duke of Savoy, against whom there had been an assassination attempt. It was important work, as the Duke was in Paris to sign a treaty binding the two countries together, and the Cardinal didn’t want His Grace dying before he put ink to parchment. But that it didn’t mean it wasn’t tedious.

“One hour left,” Athos remarked, looking over at the clock.

“Hopefully it goes by quickly,” Porthos quipped. It was easy to tell that he was getting restless and wanted to leave the minute their replacements arrived.

The doors opened suddenly and in walked a very pretty, and very voluptuous, young woman dressed in a pale blue silk dress, her large breasts threatening to spill out of the low-cut bodice. Wearing no underskirt, but instead opting for pantaloons the same shade as her dress, she glided across the floor on a pair of tall chopines. The ease and grace with which she moved told them that this was one of the more experienced courtesans that graced Louis’ court.

“May we help you, Mademoiselle…?” Athos inquired politely, at the same time moving to block her path to the Duke’s bedchamber. Porthos joined him in the obstruction, letting his eyes fall to that delectable cleavage.

“Goulue,” the courtesan easily supplied, her full lips making a moue that looked like she was waiting for one of them to kiss her. “The Cardinal sent me to entertain the Duke.”

With long sorrel brown hair flowing down her back and velvety black eyes shining with amusement, the Musketeers had no doubt that the Duke would be very well entertained by this pretty whore, and together they stepped aside to let her pass.

“I trust you’ll both be keeping an eye on things from the spyhole,” La Goulue said as she passed between them, letting them inhale her perfume.

“What spyhole?” Athos asked, exchanging a look with Porthos.

“The one over there, to the right of the door,” La Goulue said, pitching her voice lower and pointing to some molding that was at eye level for the two men. “The Cardinal likes to use these rooms for guests that he wants to keep an eye on. I usually entertain the guests that stay here.”

La Goulue walked right up to the bedchamber door and rapped lightly, then waited for permission to enter. When a muffled voice responded, she opened the door, turned her head to give the two men a flirtatious wink, then entered, closing the door behind her.

“She’s right, you know,” Athos said musingly as they both looked at the polished wood door.

“About what?” Porthos asked.

“We should keep an eye on things in there,” Athos said, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile as he looked at Porthos, who let out a soft chuckle.

“You can go first,” Porthos said, patting Athos on the shoulder.

Athos silently walked over to the wall indicated by La Goulue, running his hand over the molding until he found the break for the spyhole. Carefully opening it, he looked through the grill on the bedchamber side to see the courtesan standing in front of the Duke.

“What are they doing?” Porthos asked from somewhere behind him.

“She’s undressing for the Duke,” Athos said softly as he watched La Goulue remove her clothing, her back to him. “She has a perfect ass.” Porthos groaned and he smiled in amusement. Looking through the spyhole again, he saw her kneel before the Duke, her hands opening the front of his breeches. 

“Now she’s sucking his cock,” Athos said, as the courtesan’s head went into the familiar bobbing motion. The Duke let out a deep groan and tangled his fingers in her hair. Athos felt his own cock harden as he thought about those lips wrapping around his erect shaft. La Goulue continued to fellate the Duke while Athos felt his breeches get more and more painful as his cock strained against the leather. He felt the pre-come leak out to dampen his small clothes.

“They’re moving to the bed,” Athos said when La Goulue got to her feet and went over to the bed, lying down on her back, with her legs spread wide so he could see her hairless pussy. The Duke stepped between her thighs, gripping them tightly and jerking her hips up so he could thrust into her wet cunt, making her moan with pleasure. Unable to take anymore, Athos tore open his breeches and shoved them off his hips, his thick erection springing free from it’s confines. Dipping his fingers in a nearby vase to wet them, he firmly gripped his shaft and began to stroke his length as La Goulue ground her hips against the Duke’s. With her arms flung back, she looked incredibly wanton, and her eyes went over to the spyhole. Her smile was feline, as though she knew exactly what he was doing, and Athos adjusted his strokes to match the pumping of her hips, imagining that he was the one fucking her, not the Duke. He watched her undulating body working itself on her lover’s cock, stroking himself faster when her orgasmic cries reached his ears. When he felt himself nearing his release, he took a handkerchief from his doublet and wrapped it around his cock, biting his lip as two more pumps caused him to fill it with his come. He closed the spyhole on the Duke’s climactic groans, returned the handkerchief to his doublet, then pulled his breeches back up.

“How was she?” Porthos asked he refastened the front.

“Magnificent,” Athos replied. “I can see why the Cardinal uses her to entertain his guests.”

Looking at the clock, he saw that a quarter of an hour had passed. Going over to the window, he opened it to check the garden perimeter to make sure no one had passed by the Duke’s apartments. In the distance he could see the King dueling with his nephew while the Queen and the Duchess looked on. Pulling the window closed, he turned back to see Porthos return from checking the corridor. The two men went back to being bored until the clock reached the half-hour, when they heard the crack of the ornately carved bed in the other room as it moved back and forth. 

“I believe it’s your turn,” Athos told Porthos, inclining his head toward the spyhole.

Porthos clapped him on the shoulder and went over to where Athos had stood earlier and opened the spyhole. He wasted no time in opening his breeches, shoving them down to his ankles and taking his stiffening cock firmly in hand. Looking into the chamber, he groaned as he saw La Goulue straddling the Duke as he lay back against the pillows, but facing away from him, giving Porthos a full view of her buxom curves.

“She’s got perfect tits,” he told Athos softly, moving his hand up and down his shaft.

As though she knew he was there, La Goulue circled her hips as she slid up and down the ducal shaft, making her body undulate while she licked her lips seductively. Porthos whispered soft words of encouragement, pumping himself as she rode the cock between her thighs, her loud moans music to his ears. When she reached down to cup the Duke’s balls, Porthos imagined it was his that she was squeezing before trailing her fingers upward to press on the pearl hidden in her folds. La Goulue leaned forward onto her hands, her luscious breasts swaying forward, and her hips picked up their pace, pumping rapidly to bring the Duke to climax. Porthos’ hand quickly matched the speed as he was entranced by the sight of the courtesan’s buttocks bouncing back and forth. As he felt himself nearing his orgasm, he reached into his doublet but found nothing to contain the oncoming release. Thinking quickly, he reached out and grabbed the decorative ewer right next to the vase, bringing in front of him just in time to catch his explosion. Porthos bit his lip as his come hit the porcelain with an audible splash that was fortunately covered up by the Duke’s climactic shouts. He pumped himself dry, then set the ewer back next to the vase and closed the spyhole.

“You know that was a gift from the Dutch ambassador, right?” Athos quipped as Porthos pulled his breeches back up.

“Sorry,” Porthos grimaced, refastening the front. “I didn’t have a rag on me. Do you think they’ll notice?”

“One of your loads?” Athos said, raising an eyebrow. “How could they not?”

Porthos was about to ask what they should do when the bedchamber door opened and La Goulue stepped out, turning to close the door on the sleeping Duke. As she faced the Musketeers, her fingers refastened her bodice with practiced ease.

“I trust you both enjoyed my performance,” she purred, a feline smile playing on her lips as she looked at them.

“We gave you a standing ovation,” Porthos told her, winking lasciviously, which was exactly what she wanted to hear.

“Excellent,” she said, gracefully gliding over to them. “When are you two off duty?”

“Our replacements will arrive on the hour,” Athos said, indicating the clock, which said they had a quarter hour left.

“Come to the Etoile suite on the third floor,” La Goulue said, walking between them once more. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Athos and Porthos watched the courtesan sashay out of the room and prepared for the longest fifteen minutes of their lives.

OOOO

“Harder,” La Goulue panted breathlessly, arching back over the arm of the chaise. “Fuck me harder, Athos.”

Athos responded with a brutal thrust, making her moan in ecstasy. When Lazard and Badeaux showed up to relieve them, he and Porthos had gone straight to the third floor, to the suite with stars covering the walls. La Goulue was waiting for them on a chaise longue, smiling seductively, and it didn’t take long to remove her breeches and pull down her bodice to free her massive breasts from their confinement. She tore open Athos’ breeches, wanting him first, stroking the long, thick cock she found while Athos removed his doublet and shirt. Athos pushed her back against the chaise arm, spreading her legs far apart, and thrusting forcefully into her drenched pussy, groaning as her walls closed around him. He set a strong pace, his strokes going deep within her, making excited cries fall from her lips as he used her for pleasure.

“Be careful with that,” La Goulue panted, looking over to where Porthos sat in a chair, breeches and boots completely discarded, stroking his huge cock while he watched the couple fucking in front of him. “I’m going to need that once Athos finishes.”

“Are you sure you’ll be able to handle it after he’s done with you?” Porthos asked her archly, putting a twist on his next stroke, well versed in his friend’s habit of pounding whores’ cunts until they couldn’t stand up.

“Why do think,” Athos said, his words punctuated by hard thrusts, “She’s called. The Glutton? She took. Ten. Musketeer cocks. One after. Another. Then demanded. Ten more. Her cunt. Is insatiable.”

Athos continued to hammer in and out of her sodden sheath until he felt the contractions and heard the cries of her orgasm. When he judged her to be completely enraptured, he let himself go, his cock spurting hot seed into her warm, wet void. La Goulue gave him a satisfied smile as he slowly eased his spent cock out of her.

“I think she’s ready for you now,” Athos said, getting up from the chaise.

Porthos rose from the chair and walked over to the chaise, his erect cock standing straight out from his body. La Goulue levered herself up, but Porthos merely turned her around so she was face down over the chaise arm. Moving her dress aside, he thrust into her from behind as Athos sat down in the chair he’d just occupied to watch the erotic act.

“Mmm,” La Goulue moaned as Porthos’ cock barreled into her, “soldiers are so much better at fucking than nobles.”

“Is that so?” Porthos grunted, enjoying the way her cunt clung to his shaft.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly as another thrust sent shivers down her spine, and she reached between her legs to press her pearl. “Nobles want you to do all the work, and rarely satisfy you. Soldiers want to make you come screaming when they give your pussy a beating.”

“How come we heard you screaming with the Duke?” Porthos asked, squeezing her ample breasts as his thrusts came harder and faster.

“I had to imagine the two of you fucking me hard to make myself come,” La Goulue panted, as though she was out of breath. “Mon Dieu, don’t stop Porthos!”

Porthos pounded into her, her juices sliding down his shaft to wet his balls, until her mouth opened, and a high-pitched scream emerged. Her cunt spasmed violently around his cock as she climaxed, and his arm went around her waist to hold her tightly as he slammed her down on his shaft over and over until his cock released an explosion of come into her throbbing channel.

“Shall we send Lazard and Badeaux to satisfy you next?” Athos asked from the chair, watching as their breathing returned to normal. 

La Goulue smiled and nodded.


End file.
